He could think of nothing more to say. He knew that no words of comfort would suffice.
“Mansur,” she whispered, “please get me a weapon. Any weapon. Please.”
“Chaya, I can’t let you hurt yourself.”
“Oh no,” she interrupted as the men drew nearer, “it’s not for me. I’ve already decided that. I’d thought to do just that at one time, but no longer. I wouldn’t use it against myself.”
“You plan to kill him?”
She huffed. “One way or the other, I’m going to know freedom. If it takes Cark’s life to do it, then so be it. It’s just that he keeps all his weapons locked up at all times.” She choked back a cry. “Please, Mansur . . . in the name of the Good One, won’t you help me?”
With his back to her, he nodded, as the men neared. So intent had he been on Chaya’s story, that he’d heard nothing of their conversation, even once they’d come back within the range that would have allowed for him to do so.
“I’ll do my best,” he whispered, his head bowed so that no one could see his lips move.
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